The Eleventh Star
by reenka
Summary: Hand-holding, awkward questions and the secret lives of stars. In the summer it all comes full circle again. [HD]


DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Author notes: I was trying to fulfill a request for fluff and daisies and hand-holding and happy Harry/Draco. Probably occurs in some sort of alternate universe where they're semi-well-adjusted or something, heh.

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_The Eleventh Star_

When they came back in the fall, when the leaves began to crinkle and Draco's smiles were secret once again, they had never liked to hold hands. Draco would pretend he wasn't blushing, and this would make him testy and his temper flared even more randomly than usual. He'd point to the leaves scattering in everyone's hair and say,

"Those plebes! Don't they know enough to cast the most -basic- cleaning charms?" and he'd be careful not to look at Harry, who had leaves sticking out of his hair every which way.

Harry would laugh and squeeze Draco's hand a little, and he'd feel a little warmer because it was so unexpectedly hot in his own, every time.

"You're just snippy because they were out of sweets by the time we finally got to Honeydukes, admit it," Harry laughed, and Draco humphed, continuing not to look at the other boy.

"You know nothing, Potter," he'd say, and he'd shiver a little because Harry would be tracing little circles on the inside of his palm. "Cheater," he'd mutter, trying not to be too obvious about brushing their hips together, rubbing his thigh against Harry's and not quite purring.

--

That winter, Draco had just looked at him and said nothing, all his words seemingly melting on his tongue like snowflakes. Harry thought of icicles, and how he'd liked to suck on them when he'd been little, especially the ones that were a little sour, tinged with weathering and the impurities of the season.

Harry wouldn't say anything either, just back Draco against a wall where he couldn't escape, staring at him without looking away, forcing them to admit to all the things that remained silent between them. They wouldn't smile, or move, or even breathe, for long moments that felt like they stretched out too far, like they were almost enough to strangle them both.

Finally, Harry would be unable to take anymore and begin to stutter.

"Er-- Draco-- that is-- Malfoy..."

Draco's lips would curl in a tiny gesture of distaste, and Harry would be so far gone he'd want to lick at it and see if it tasted as sour as an icicle.

"Well, you've got me where you wanted me, Potter, spit it out then, I haven't got all day," Draco'd say, and it wouldn't be too convincing because his chest would be rising and falling so rapidly, and he'd licked his lips a disproportionate number of times compared to how often he blinked.

"Malfoy. I-- I don't think-- that is-- can you--"

"Can I? Of course I can. Can I -what-?" Draco would snap, and manage to sound both imperious and breathless at the same time. Harry's heartbeat had to be audible from across the room, since it was so loud Harry was shaking with it, and finally he just said it.

"Can I kiss you? Just, you know, to see."

"See -what-, Potter?"

"See if you taste sour."

And Malfoy's eyes would widen and he'd swallow quickly, inhaling a fast, shaky breath.

"Why should I let you?"

"I don't know," Harry would mumble, his lips already moving towards Draco's, his eyes already dropping closed. Draco tried not to make it look like he was holding his breath, and simply settled for parting his lips and swallowing the softest sigh of relief. Finally. They could stop talking, finally.

--

Harry knew better than to lean down and pick daisies to stick in Draco's hair in the spring, although it was tempting because Draco pouted and tried to dance away, dodging his hand frantically, but unwilling to let go of Harry and really escape. He looked very put upon, which Harry thought only made it all the more adorable. His eyes still sparkled in the sunlight and Harry thought they matched the sky, even though they were normally grey. They looked so translucent, he fancied he could see clouds reflected in them, and the sun hidden inside them. Draco's hair shone with a dispersed brilliance, and it made Harry's breath catch in his throat.

He knew Draco really -should- be aware of it, how beautiful he was, how unguarded he looked when they were alone together, how Harry felt like he was flying without getting off the ground for the first time. Most of the time they wouldn't even be touching, and Harry would start to feel faint just knowing Draco was right there, looking at him with the newfound, steady expression that revealed nothing but a constant shining in his half-closed eyes.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" Draco would say in a stilted voice, his drawl seemingly having disappeared, and Harry wouldn't know what to say.

"You," he'd wound up saying, and it felt right and simple and enough, when it left his mouth. "Just you."

And Draco would smile a little, and lean in to kiss him, and Harry would clutch at the front of Draco's robes and try not to fall, even though he knew that was inevitable. Harry felt the sun strike the back of his head, and he tangled his fingers in Draco's silky hair, teasing out the flowers and smiling against the other boy's sweet damp mouth.

--

"That's the eleventh star in the constellation Morpheus, which is supposed to grant you true dreams if you notice it right before falling asleep," Draco would say drowsily, lying in the summer grass beside the other boy. "Mother once told me it used to be the guiding star for anyone needing to find their way to the home they'd never seen."

Harry was curled up against him, head laying on Draco's shoulder, and his fingers were toying lightly with the dip of his navel. Harry seemed fascinated with Draco's navel, and really, Draco didn't mind, even it if meant Harry paid virtually no attention to his astronomical brilliance.

"What about star number ten?"

"Oh, that's just a useless star that circles eleven and never leaves it. It's got nothing better to do, apparently," Draco said, closing his eyes and concentrating on Harry's fingers hovering just above the treasure trail leading to the patch of whispy blond hair he wished Harry would remember existed, even though Harry seemed to be too sleepy to remember his own hand existed at that point.

"I bet the eleventh star would appreciate it if it could," Harry said, kissing Draco's chest through the thin material of the shirt he was wearing. "I bet the tenth star just wants to be there no matter what, and it never considered what anyone else might think."

Abruptly, Harry rolled back, squinting up at the inky skies and sighing in amazement. There were so many of them, and his own love and wishes for something lasting were so transitory and foolish compared to the love of stars. There were seemingly an unlimited number (Harry counted 397 once on a night like this), but Harry knew it was deceptive. He laid on top of Draco and mumbled something, but Draco didn't quite hear him.

"What? Stop mumbling, would you? It's bloody annoying," Draco groused, but his fingers were tangling in Harry's hair and his arms were slipping around Harry's shoulders to tug him closer.

"I said, eleven wasn't such a bad year, was it."

There was a long pause, and Draco laughed, a breathy sound that seemed to come out of nowhere, sudden as a gust of wind. "Yeah. I suppose we were lucky, there."

Harry smiled, his mouth pressed against Draco's outer arm. "It just took a while for the dream to come true, that's all," Harry said, uncharacteristically sentimental.

Draco groaned a little, but held Harry yet closer. "Prat. I'm no one's dream, not like you."

Harry settled in comfortably, throwing his leg over Draco's and sighing deeply. "Maybe you're right," he said softly. "You've always been right there with me, haven't you. My reality."

"Just shut up and kiss me," Draco pouted.

And in that tone of voice, Harry could refuse him nothing.

--


End file.
